


a moment of reprieve

by littlecakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 08:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Upon yet another return to the monastery, Caspar finds Linhardt asleep under his favorite tree.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	a moment of reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> This is just shameless fluff, I was feelin' soft about these two. i really love them.
> 
> Also I blame you Shoob and Hope, for always enabling me.

In their childhood days, there would always be a small spike of urgency in his blood when Caspar couldn’t find Lindhardt. Whether they were at the von Hevring estate or the von Bergliez, it was always the same; Caspar would wander the halls, calling Linhardt’s name. The latter could always be found sleeping in the strangest of places - a closet, a cabinet, beneath his bed - constantly seeking the undisturbed rest that his weak constitution demanded.

Nevermind that, though. Caspar would never disturb the mage from his ever-important slumber. Not on purpose, anyway, but in those years apart before they attended the academy, he learned to be loud. His father often called him ostentatious, whatever that meant. When you’re second-born and heir to nothing, you learn to  _ need _ a little louder than the other siblings. Eat a little faster. Fight a little harder. It’s difficult to grab a foothold when you’ve nothing to stand on.

In those years apart, Caspar got bolder but Linhardt became more subdued, and when they were separated  _ again _ Caspar swore he wouldn’t change. He would be the same he’d always been when he saw Linhardt again, he said. Time doesn’t care what quiet oaths you swear to your pillow in the middle of night in a tent amidst a thunderstorm with your subordinates fighting in the mess tent next door. You get a little taller. Hit a little harder. Yell even louder than ever before.

But Linhardt? Goddess, at some point in those endless five years he became someone different. His hair had grown and that pretty ribbon Caspar gave him years ago hangs in tatters around his wrist; verdant locks twist and shine effervescently in the gentle spring sun that kiss the ancient walls of Garreg Mach. He didn’t grow at all, and to Caspar’s delight, they can almost meet each other at eye level. He’s still soft-spoken with words so sharp they’d cut your throat.

And he’s beautiful. So beautiful that for once, when Caspar finally saw him again, he was at a loss for words. They fought the war and  _ survived, _ somehow, gloriously, and when they wound up back at Garreg Mach they swore they would never leave each other’s sides again. It seemed so simple at the time, that promise, yet it seems so serious now as Caspar wanders the halls of the monastery like he did their childhood homes so many years ago. Caspar won’t let Linhardt go without him, wherever that may be.

“Lin!” he calls, his voice bouncing back at him off the barren walls of the monastery. They’ve forgone the drapes they used to adorn the halls with. It was kind of needed, though, Caspar always thought they smelled moldy. Then again, the whole place kinda smelled old.

Stepping into the reception hall, he cups his hands around his mouth and chirps, “Linhardt!”

A few young students turn their heads to look at him, but he could care less. Let himself be known as the loud visitor that can’t keep to himself. That’s fine. He and Linhardt (if he could just  _ find _ the guy) will be on the road soon enough anyway, if Byleth will let them leave, that is. Clingy, their old professor is.

As Caspar stomps into the open-air hallway and draws the deepest breath to really holler this time so Linhardt can hear him even if he’s in the stables, he stops. There, in the grass, lies a man dressed curiously, unlike any of the students. His white tunic has grass stains on the elbows and hangs off of his slender limbs. Slender, soft hands that have only ever healed and never hurt caress the leather cover of an old textbook, and eyelashes greener than emeralds flutter over kissable cheeks. The tree that stands strong at his back has bark that’s caught long strands of verdant locks.

It’s Linhardt, of course, snoozing the afternoon away in the dappled shade of one of the old oak trees in the courtyard, just outside their old classroom. Caspar’s heart twists with an odd sense of nostalgia and a familiar affection. How many times has he found this dear man under this same tree, with another book, caught in a literal daydream? It makes a small smile twist at the corner of his mouth as he thinks about it. Too many times to count, for sure.

Caspar kneels at his side, fresh leather boots squeaking as they fold against their will, and whispers, “Linny. Heart. Linhardt.  _ Lin _ . We need to go pack the horses.”

There’s no response. Linhardt has learned how to be a heavy sleeper, which is very convenient when he comes home late and covered in bruises from the alleyway brawl he  _ won _ , thank you very much. It’s not so convenient when life is calling and they need to be moving. Linhardt sometimes is trapped in this odd sleep cycle and he drags Caspar by the ankles down into it with him.

He can’t help the smile that creeps across his face as he carefully scoops Linhardt up in his arms. The sleepy mage’s arms loop around his neck almost instantly. He’s well-taught after many years of falling asleep almost anywhere and Caspar carrying him back to his dormitory for some desperately needed rest. His heart has never failed to race when he sees those long, green lashes flutter slightly over pale cheeks as Linhardt snoozes. He’s just so soft and so sweet. Caspar can’t help but love him.

The walk to the stables is a quiet one; Caspar knows all of the paths where people are less-likely to be found. He doesn’t want Linhardt to wake up until he has to. There are still a few quiet smiles and giggles as a gaggle of girls catches an eyeful of smaller Caspar carrying lanky, sleeping Linhardt, with his emerald robes whispering over the ancient cobbled pathways of the monastery as he walks.

“Cas,” Linhardt mutters, head drooping against his lover’s broad chest as he comes to. 

“Welcome to the waking world, sleepyhead. We gotta get going!! The professor says it’s gonna rain this afternoon and I don’t wanna end up smelling like a wet horse when we camp tonight,” Caspar exclaims, stopping beside Linhardt’s steed, “I woulda let you sleep longer if I could.”

“Very well,” Linhardt says with a yawn, shifting in Caspar’s arms so the fighter can help him up onto his horse. He twists in the saddle to make sure the bags drooping over the horses’s sloping backside are secure before turning his head to look at Caspar.

“What’s with that moony look?” Linhardt asks, a knowing smile twisting on his face.

“What! Nothin’! I’ve never looked  _ moony _ once in my entire life!” Caspar squeaks, but he knows he’s blushing. He can’t help it, not when he’s looking at Linhardt’s sleepy, perfect face.

“Sure,” Linhardt says, rolling his eyes before leaning over in his saddle. Caspar meets him halfway for a kiss. It tastes a little sleepy and a little like Angelica tea, but that’s just Linhardt’s natural flavor. Unfortunately, Linhardt pulls away before Caspar can  _ really _ get a taste.

“Are we off?” Linhardt asks, prodding his horse with his heels into a gentle trot.

“Of course! I’ll follow you wherever you go, Linny,” Caspar calls, his horse making a valiant effort to catch up.

As they pass through the monastery gates yet again and head north, Caspar can hear Linhardt say softly, “I hope you always will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and sacrifices to your favorite ancient deity are always appreciated~!


End file.
